Served
by A-blackwinged-bird
Summary: And you, Mr. Winchester, have been served. Oneshot. Language warning.


**Title**: Served

**Author**: BlackWingedbird

**Beta and Muse**: Amy

Standard Dis, Language warning

**Author's Notes**: A post-Devil's Trap fic of a different breed. The majority of this was Amy's doing, I only added the vomit. Enjoy!

* * *

Dean dipped his pool cue towards his intended target. "Eight ball in the corner pocket."

He leaned down, flattening his back as he took aim, then took the shot, feeling the polished wood glide over the skin of his left hand as the cue cracked against the black ball. It bounced off the side marker and rolled across the felt, landing solidly in the corner pocket.

Dean straightened and grinned. "Pay up, Sammy."

Behind him, Sam sat on a stool, one hand wrapped around a bottle of beer and the other holding his cue against his leg. "You can't take money from your brother," Sam replied. "We're on the same team, remember?"

Dean leaned against the pool table, grabbing his own beer from the small round table next to them. "I don't care. A game is a game, and you lost, little brother. Now pay up. Don't make me drag your ass out back and beat it out of you…"

Sam stared at him a moment longer, 80 percent sure Dean was teasing but more worried about the remaining 20. At last, he shifted to the side and pulled his wallet from his back pocket, grumbling under his breath.

"You Dean Winchester?"

Still wearing a cocky smile, Dean turned towards the newcomer. A thin man in a business suit stood before him, wire-framed glasses on his face, briefcase in one hand, a manila folder in the other. His expression was dark and serious.

Dean's smile fell. "Who's asking?"

Unflinching, the stranger repeated, "Are you Dean Winchester?"

It was Sam who replied. "Yeah. What's this about?"

Dean looked from Sam back to the stranger.

"I'm here on behalf of one 'F. Demon'," the man replied, holding out the folder. "And you, Mr. Winchester, have been served."

The words reverberated in Dean's skull as he took the file. "Served?" he asked. "Like, in a lawsuit?" He looked to Sam questioningly.

"Yes," the man replied. "As in, 'like a lawsuit'." He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. "Have a good day, gentlemen." With that, he turned and left.

Dean and Sam stared at each other.

"What the hell?" Dean murmured, approaching the table and laying the folder between him and Sam. "What is this?"

Sam angled the folder towards himself and opened it, his hand freezing above the first page. "This looks like the real deal," Sam said quietly, studying the top page. "Jesus- Dean, look at the defendant's name."

Dean scanned the page. "Fire Demon?" He blinked. "Like, _the_ fire demon? The one we've been hunting? Is this shit for real?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "It can't be."

Suddenly Dean understood. "Oh, I get it. Very funny, college boy. Who was that guy, an old drinking buddy? How much did you have to pay him, huh?" He shifted backwards, laughing. "That's a good one, I'll give you that. Very original. And look at the paperwork- you must have been up past your bedtime making this look legitimate." He took a long swallow of beer, his body tingling as his nerves were soothed.

"What? No, Dean, I-"

"You know, it's bad enough that my car is out of commission. But this has got to be your all-time low, Sam." Dean shook his head, tapping Sam's ankle with the handle of the cue. "Go on, it's your turn to rack 'em."

Sam remained firmly where he was, planting a hand on the folder. "You think I would make a joke like this? Dean, I didn't do this. I swear- this isn't funny."

Dean snorted, tossing the plastic triangle onto the table. "Yeah right."

"No, Dean- I swear on everything I hold dear, I am not responsible for this."

Dean froze, well aware of every thing Sam held dear. He turned slowly, meeting his brother's worried gaze, and let his shoulders drop. "Fuck." In his heart, he knew Sam wouldn't have done this. But the look at the alternative…

He moved back to the table and downed the rest of the beer. "So let's just pretend that it is, in fact, a lawsuit from the thing that we've been hunting all our lives." The words sounded absolutely fucking ridiculous and he motioned the waitress over. "What can it possibly be suing us for?" He turned towards the big breasts beside him. "Jack and coke, two."

She left and he realized he should have just asked for the bottle.

Sam flipped the page and started reading the next one. His face paled as he eyes grew large, and Dean knew it would be bad. His stomach started to ache.

"Physical and emotional pain and suffering," Sam announced weakly. "And for the wrongful death of two of his… children."

Dean grabbed the tumbler before it hit the table and downed it, handing it back to the waitress for a refill. "Come again?"

Sam had stopped blinking and was barely breathing. "He's suing you for intervention of his quest to find true happiness-"

"Wait, what? What the hell does that mean?"

"Because you saved me," Sam replied. "You prevented him from being… happy."

Dean nodded his thanks as another glass was set before him. "I can't fucking believe this."

"He's also suing me," Sam said, staring at the paper. "When I shot him in the leg, it ruined his ability to maintain corporeal form for extended periods of time without causing 'excruciating pain and suffering'."

Dean's head was swimming and his stomach hurt even worse. "I can't believe this. This is unreal. How can-"

"Dean."

The tone suggested more bad news and Dean really didn't want to hear it. He looked at Sam.

"He wants half a billion dollars in compensation."

Dean choked and the whiskey seared his throat. "Half a billion… is that all?"

"And he wants my soul."

Dean stilled, staring at his brother. "What?"

"He wants my soul, Dean. He's suing us for my soul! So what, he can't get it the old fashioned way so he's going to go through the court systems? What the hell is going on here, Dean?"

Sam was shaking as badly as Dean wanted to. The weight of the situation pressed down heavily, making it hard to breathe. It was just too much to take in. The demon- who had killed their mother and initiated a 23 year old hunt, killing countless other mothers and infants before killing Sam's girlfriend, then sent an _army_ of followers out to kill them- was suing _them_? What the hell kind of logic was that?

Dean slammed his glass on the table, making Sam jump. "I'm not going down without a fight," he announced. "This is horseshit. You're a lawyer- I want to sue his ass back. I want a counter suit."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not a lawyer-"

"Close enough!" Dean rested one hand in his lap, easing his stomach cramps marginally. "Where's the laptop? I want to sue Mr. _F. Demon_ for MY physical and emotional pain!"

"And suffering."

"That too! I want to sue his ass for killing mom, Jessica, Pastor Jim, Caleb… I want to bleed him dry! I want a _billion_ dollars, and I want his evil, sick, twisted, demon-ass sent to the deepest, hottest, most fiery bowels of Hell!"

Sam blinked.

"Well?" Dean panted.

"I'll see what I can do."

Dean nodded, his blood boiling and his heart racing. The pain in his stomach was crippling now, and he searched for the restroom. "You do that, Sammy. Nail him to the wall." Dean pushed himself from the stool and wobbled a bit, blaming it on the alcohol, then started for the neon sign in the corner. "I'll be b-"

Then he collapsed.

When Dean opened his eyes, his right cheek was smushed into coarse carpet. His legs were above him, tangled in damp sheets. He groaned, the blood rushing to his brain, and tried to get up.

Sam was looking down at him. "Dean?"

"I won't let him take your soul, Sammy." Dean struggled weakly, briefly wondering who in the hell left a sheet on the floor of a bar. "The demon wants a lawsuit, I give him a freaking _lawsuit_…"

"Um… Dean?"

Suddenly his stomach flip-flopped, sending a wave of bile and partially digested food up his esophagus. Dean pulled himself forward, collapsing completely onto the floor, then scrambled to the bathroom, dragging the sheets behind him.

As he curled over the toilet bowl, projectile vomiting his vital organs, Sam appeared in the doorway, flicking on the light. Fleeting recognition told Dean that something wasn't right here. This bathroom looked an awful lot like the bathroom at their hotel… It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Arms crossed and leaning against the doorway, Sam said, "Dude, I told you- just because it's a buffet doesn't mean you can eat two dozen jumbo shrimp."

With a pale and shaky hand, Dean raised his middle finger.

END


End file.
